


Drinking for two

by Nausi



Category: Hawkguy - Fandom, MCU, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, American Arrow - Freeform, Blind Spot, Comic Canon and Movie Canon, M/M, mcu - Freeform, mild drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nausi/pseuds/Nausi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a dark anniversary for Hawkeye and he's seeking comfort in the style made popular by Tony Stark. Can he and Captain America put aside their recent awkwardness for an evening or will the Hawk drink alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking for two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmyRiddle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyRiddle/gifts).



> This work was written for AmyRiddle based on a prompt: "Can I has angry!Clint? I dunno why the fuck I want that but I do ... or how about depressive drinking over ... I dunno, death day of mum or brother or whatever."
> 
> I went with Sad!Clint rather than angry, but I hope that it fills the request otherwise. 
> 
> This fiction is not set totally in MCU, rather a mash-up of that the Blind Spot SL before those events, and heavily inspired by Fractions current run of Hawkeye. Thanks so much for reading!

People always say things like, ‘Time heals all wounds’ and ‘It gets better’, but Steve Rogers was a man well acquainted with the fact that time was often what made it worse, or the problem in itself. Mostly he kept his chin up and put on a strong front. He was Captain America, and people looked up to him, even when he wasn’t in the leader’s seat. You couldn’t just take the cowl off and stop being something like that. Steve had learned that back in the war, in the early days with the Howling Commandos. Once a symbol, always a symbol, the only thing that changed was how good you were at inspiring those around you.

So Steve Rogers didn’t buy into the whole, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll get easier’ stick, which was one of the reasons he was so concerned right now. Hawkeye was drinking. In the over two years they had been working with each other on the Avengers Steve had never known the man to air his dirty laundry in front of others, unless it had to do with women. The man was as much a rock as Steve was himself. The sight of him, in his civvies, bare foot and sprawled over a thousand dollar sofa with a bottle of bourbon in hand gave Steve the distinct impression that the archer was not drinking for fun. 

If Natasha was in the mansion Steve would have just put in a discreet call through Jarvis, alerting the lady she ought to come down here to take care of her best friend. The widow was out, and Steve knew the Science Bros were up in their lab, he still didn’t get that nickname not fully he was sure, which did not leave many options. Steve knew he was the last person that should go in there and try to figure out what was wrong with Clint. Two months ago, after that awkward encounter the two men had done their best to stay out of the other’s way. Steve prepared himself for another round of, ‘I don’t need a babysitter, you don’t have to be superhuman to take care of yourself’. 

“Hey there soldier.” Steve lead with that, knowing it would get batted away, and give him a decent idea of just how drunk the man was.

Blue eyes a few shades off of the sky looked up at him from under a toned forearm, “Sir yes sir! Have you come to relieve me?”

That worried Steve, the man never took being called a soldier. He reacted much the same way Stark did. The lack of real sluring on his words told the Captain that Clint was trying to pull the wool over his eyes. “How many have you had?”

Clint squinted at him and sat up a little. “Depends on how you count them, drinking for two you know.”

Steve took that one in for a moment and tried to decide if the man was pulling his leg or actually hinting at something true. Based on the fact that it was Clint Barton Steve decided that it was a passive hint, there was something going on. “You going to leave some space for me or do I have to go find my own sofa?”

“Always bossing me, you’re always bossing.” Even while complaining Clint sat up and pulled his faded purple shirt down as it rode up, another sign that the man was not near as gone as he likely wanted to be given his behavior. “There, you got enough room there?”

Steve sat down and made sure not to leave too much space between them. Things had been touch and go between them, and he didn’t have the luxury of being distant right now. Barton was too important to let his own insecurities get in the way when it was so obvious he needed a friend. Bare feet were pressed up against his thigh, they were cold. Steve looked over at his friend and wondered how old those jeans were, and how it was legal for him to fold his hands behind his head like that. Barton’s arms rippled as he leaned the back of his head into his palms and against the arm of the sofa. Steve did his best to look in the man’s eyes, “Yeah, plenty.”

Clint held the bottle out at Steve.

They looked at each other.

Steve took the bottle and took a sig, winced at bit at it and managed, “You know I can’t get drunk.” He handed it back.

“Yet you’ll still take a drink with me.” Clint sighed and set the bottle aside, as though Steve drinking from it somehow rendered it too good for him. His hands ran over his face and he shook his head. “Always watching out for me aren’t you?”

“That’s what a team is, what friends are for.” Steve sighed and looked away from a moment. Things like this had never been questioned between himself and Bucky. Between them it had been natural. 

“Not for kissing.” Clint nodded, as though he were reminding himself that ‘I’ came before ‘E’ except after ‘C’.

Steve looked back and sighed, “Don’t make this about that. I know you weren’t in here drinking about me more than a fortnight after the incident, you’re a mess, like the rest of us, but you’re not pathetic.” 

That made Clint frown. It was no secrete that he was sore about how all of that had fallen out, and there had been a little drinking, but Natasha had been with him then, and it had been well handled.

“Should I call Miss Bishop? I’m sure she’ll come down if you’d rather talk to her.” Steve was halfway to standing up when a hand shot out and took him on the upper arm. He looked back over at Clint who was rolled into a sit-up to reach him.

“Rogers, don’t. I’m not pissed at you and . . .” He let go, leaned back against the arm of the sofa and shrugged, “. . . just don’t okay?”

Steve sat back down and look over at his friend, “Are you going to tell me what all of this is about?” The cold feet were back against his thigh, it was hard not to reach for them.

Clint rolled his eyes and shook his head. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but he was going to. That was the look, Steve knew it, knew Barton was just bracing for it. “Tasha says it all the time, you know, red in the ledger.”

Rogers waited, there was nothing he could say to that. The master assassins had a lot in their history. It didn’t change who they were to him now, but it was a fact nonetheless. 

He blew air between his lips, and shook his head, “Today, eight years ago my brother Barney died.” Clint looked down at the bottle, considered it.

Steve waited.

“It was a robbery gone all kinds of wrong and inside out. I was trying not to be on the wrong side of the law.” It was easy to tell that Clint hadn’t really told this story often, and that he wasn’t going to head into detail now. Steve was surprised he was hearing any of it. “Everyone was wearing masks, guy stuck with one of my arrows pulled his mask off . . . .”

It was easy to complete, that last sentence that hung in the air. Steve did reach out then and put the chill feet in his lap. His big long fingered hands cupped one of the feet and started to rub at it a bit. 

“What are you doing Captain?” Clint was leaning forward again, “I’m sort of ticklish, not responsible if you take one in the jewels.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “You going to tell me the rest of that?”

“No.”

“Then sit there and let me try to be a friend.” Steve worked his thumbs into the arch of the man’s foot.

Clint let out a long sigh, “Last time I sort of . . .” He leaned back and closed his eyes, arms crossed over his stomach.

Steve sighed, last time had been his fault. “Don’t. Just tell me if you want me to leave, I’ll call Miss Bishop.”

They were quiet for a while. Steve’s warm hands moved to the second foot and they were silent. There were things between them that they needed to talk about. That kiss after the fishfrog battle in May was the symptom of something much larger. Tonight wasn’t going to be that night. Steve was fairly sure he knew how he felt about all of it, but a drunk Clint was not who he needed to talk to.

“She hates that.” Clint peaked over at Steve as he pushed his foot farther into the man’s lap.

“What? Being called to babysit your drunk butt?” Steve started to work at Clint’s calf, the loose fabric of the old jeans pushed up easily. 

“Nah, she’s used to that, the ‘Miss’ stuff.” Clint moaned, “Makes her feel old.”

Steve nodded. “Still not quite acclimated.” They were quiet again, time slipped by. There was nothing for Steve to rub that he hadn’t already done, and that he didn’t have to move Clint to get at so he started in at the man’s feet again for a little while. He didn’t know what he was going to do when his hands finally got tired, or when Clint wanted to get up. Steve really didn’t think the archer should be alone tonight. 

“Mmm.” Clint hummed softly and started to lean up smiled, “Hey, I’ve gotta take a leak. Feeling better though, going to head in.”

“Come back to my place.” Steve let go of Clint and watched the man sit up properly. Their eyes met and Clint was, for once, not hitting him with a snappy comeback. “You don’t want to talk about it, but you don’t need to be alone to drink more either.” Steve reached out and took Clint’s near hand, “Just . . . come with me.”

Clint looked at their hands and then back up at Steve, “Can’t promise I won’t kiss you if you’re going to keep on like this Cap.”

There was more silence, they looked at each other and Steve blushed. “I can handle that this time, just, hands above the waist. I want you to respect me in the morning.”

That took all the snark right out of him. Clint’s brows shot up and he swallowed. He had been expecting to be told off. He shouldn’t have, but his dark mood had gotten the best of him. Steve could tell from the way the other was blushing that he really had taken him from behind on this one. “Come on Barton, don’t want you to ruin Stark’s expensive sofa. Let’s get you to the head.”

“Yeah Rogers, lets not piss Stark off.” They got up and Clint’s eyes went back to their hands again, “Cause that’s the last thing I need, the wrath of an egocentric mega genius. Yeah.”

Steve chuckled and squeezed Clint’s hand. “Come on.”


End file.
